


We'll Be The Broken Lovers With The Poison Cup

by littleswallow



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Soulmates, Recreational Drug Use, Reunions, Shotgunning, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5699458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleswallow/pseuds/littleswallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis and Zayn run into each other at a New Year's Eve party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Be The Broken Lovers With The Poison Cup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peculiarise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peculiarise/gifts).



> Something I wrote for peculiarise after sending her an headcanon on anon on tumblr in hopes of cheering her up. After sending her the headcanon, I knew I had to write it as a fic and gift it to her. So I hope you like it, Kayla :)

Louis was buzzing - literally. Between the mix of thumping bass, loud crowds, and the constant pouring of champagne, Louis was quite literally vibrating. He felt as though an electric current was coursing through his veins. His head was cloudy, feeling weightless on his shoulders as though it could float up, up, and away at any given time. He mostly was keeping to himself. He hadn’t even wanted to go out, was the thing. But management believed differently. So that afternoon, Louis had primped and gotten himself all read for this thing - this thing he didn’t even want to be at. He could hear the voices of the publicists telling him over and over again, “good for your image...somewhere apart from Harry...party boy status…” on repeat in his mind. It was like a broken turntable and Louis winced at the sound. He didn’t want to be here at Grimmy’s party. He’d much rather be at home with Harry ringing in the new year. They could share a midnight’s kiss and taste the champagne on each other’s tongues. Harry would be glassy-eyed from booze, and even prettier than usual. And Louis would be giggly and breathless. And it would be much, much more enjoyable than this disaster.

Louis supposed the party itself wasn’t so bad. The music was good (Grimmy did have a decent taste in music, Louis had to admit - even if it pained him to the core to do so), and there was a constant stream of expensive booze. Louis raised his champagne flute to his lips, downing the rest in a gulp. His swig probably cost over two hundred pounds. Louis smirked at the thought, reminding himself to drink more of Grimmy’s champagne. The guests weren’t too bad either. Louis recognized most of them, having all run in the same circles for the last few years. Of course, management had insisted he bring Calvin and Olli along with him, much to Louis’ distaste. They had fucked off to some section of the party, probably to get even more wasted and hit on as many girls as they could. Louis’ skin crawled at the thought. He’d checked them though, before they’d stepped out of the SUV in front of Grimmy’s mansion - making sure they didn’t have any hard drugs or the like on their persons. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d confiscated some pills off Olli and slipped them to Patrick with a frown. Why HQ couldn’t pay better blokes to act as his friends was beyond him. At the very least they could let Stan tag along more often. But Stan was sort of blacklisted after the incident over Harry’s driving license. Now, Stan was only permitted to make few, rare appearances. It royally sucked, if you asked Louis. 

The truth of the matter was that Louis was bored, and Louis was tired, and Louis wanted to go home. But he had to stay at least until midnight. He thought of Harry, propped up on the couch probably watching _Some Like It Hot_ with a box of pizza and a Corona in front of him waiting for Louis to come through the door. They weren’t exactly strangers to spending time apart, but fuck it was New Year’s and Louis wanted to kiss his boy at midnight. 

Louis grabbed another flute of champagne off a silver tray a waiter in a penguin tux was passing around. He downed it in seconds before depositing the flute in a pot plant by the balcony door. If Grimmy weren’t such a piss stain, maybe Louis would have given it to another waiter to deposit. Maybe. 

Louis headed out to the balcony. The January air was chilling, and he hunched his shoulders slightly in a feeble attempt to stay warm. Harry would skin him if he knew Louis had left his jacket in the SUV. But the truth was, Louis hated jackets. Because when he got hot, he’d have to take it off and hold on to it and that sort of responsibility always displeased him. He’d snagged one of Harry’s as he headed out the door, just to appease his boy, but had purposefully tossed it in the back of the SUV. He didn’t want to spend all night carrying it, or having to stay sober enough to keep track of where he’d tossed it. 

Louis walked to the concrete balcony and leaned over, looking out at the expansive yards. Grimmy had some nice property, Louis couldn’t deny that. He smirked as he saw a few especially drunk party-goers splashing, fully clothed, in the pool below. If Louis was eighteen again, he might join them. But Harry would definitely have his arse if he came home drenched and sniffly. And Louis rather liked his arse where it was, thank you very much.

He reached into the pocket of his black skinny jeans and grabbed for his pack of cigarettes and his lime green lighter. He was supposed to be trying to quit. Well, cutting back at least. And he was, he really was. He was down to half a pack a day as opposed to his usual two. Louis counted it as a win. But he figured a cigarette was deserved for having to be at this party. He pulled a Marlboro from the pack, and set the pack on the edge of the balcony, before putting the cigarette between his lips. He flicked the lighter, but the wind killed the spark. He cupped his hand, flicking again. Again, the lighter went dead. Louis scowled at it. Surely it wasn’t going out already, was it? Shit. He really, really wanted a cigarette.

“Need a light?”

Louis turned to look behind and fuck. He really, _really_ wasn’t expecting that. He’d be more likely to expect President Obama than who he saw standing behind him. 

“ _Shit,_ ” Louis hissed, rolling his eyes upward to the heavens. He supposed he knew that this moment would come eventually. They ran in the same circles, and after his solo album dropped, The Breakfast Show had been pretty far up his ass with how often they played his music. It wasn’t bad music, it really wasn’t. Louis knew it wouldn’t be. After all, he’d heard bits and pieces of what he was capable of creating on the bus. It was great stuff, honestly. Not that Louis had bought the album or anything. It wasn’t as if he’d reserved all the copies the stores in Hempstead had as soon as he heard the release date. Not at all.

Heavy, dark brows pulled together in a frown, “You want a light or not?”

“I’m fine,” Louis said stubbornly, flicking the lighter once again. A few little sparkles, but then nothing. Louis frowned at the lighter, cursing the damn thing. Why did it have to fuck out now of all moments? Louis _definitely_ needed that cigarette now. And more booze. Fuck! He was quite certain the universe hated him. That was the only explanation he could come up with. The universe hated him. Harry would say it was karma or some shit. Louis probably shouldn’t have TP’d his geography teacher’s house that one time back when he was seventeen…

“Give it here,” Zayn said, now moving closer behind Louis. His voice was still sounded like crushed velvet and Louis bit at his bottom lip, considering. He really did need that light.

“Fine,” Louis caved. He turned to Zan, jutting his head forward a bit so Zayn could light the cigarette between Louis’ lips. Zayn flipped the lighter in his hand before sparking the flint. He held the dancing orange flame to Louis’ cigarette. Louis felt the sudden warmth - such a stark contrast to the January chill - against his nose. He took in a breath, feeling the comforting burn on his tongue.

He didn’t say thank you. Instead, he turned back around to glance out over Grimmy’s property. Down below, the people in the pool were still squealing and splashing. The loud music from inside the mansion was booming loud enough for Louis to still hear it outside. A streak of purple cloud moved across the sky, propelled by a gentle breeze, covering the bright yellow moon. Louis looked up where the moon was hiding, thinking back to a time when he and Zayn had been stoned off their arses. Zayn had told him that the moon was in love with the sea, and would pull her close to him. But the sea was stubborn and sort of a bitch, and would pull away just to be a tease. Louis had kicked him lightly and had called him a wanker. But the story had made him smile, and he hated that he was smiling now just thinking of it.

So he pulled the soft smile into a bitter frown and spat the words, “I could fucking beat your arse, Malik” into the night.

Beside him, Zayn chuckled and said in a dry but amused tone, “Well...you could try.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground and stomped on it with his Doc Martin.

Louis took a long drag on his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and toeing at it with his black Vans. He could feel the blood in his veins turn to soda - bubbly and fizzly. He felt suddenly hot all over, in spite of the freezing cold. He was fucking pissed. He was pissed that Zayn had left, was pissed that Zayn had said those things on Twitter, was pissed that Zayn had blocked his number, and was pissed that Zayn was standing right here, smiling an amused little smirk as if this whole thing was fucking hilarious. Louis could fucking kill him. He wanted to pick him up and throw him from the balcony. But management probably wouldn’t like that too much, so Louis did the next thing he could do. He turned to face Zayn and gave him one sharp shove to the shoulders.

He used both hands and all the force he could muster. Zayn staggered backwards a bit. When he caught his balance, his eyes bulged for a moment before furrowing his brow as if he couldn’t believe Louis had just done that. To be honest, Louis couldn’t believe _he’d_ just done that. He hadn’t gotten into a physical fight with anyone since high school. Sure, he would wrestle with the boys a bit and he wasn’t above giving Liam a few bruises here or there. Punches to dicks were nothing unusual either. But those were mostly done good naturedly. This was different though.

There was a change in the air on the balcony. The tension hung over them thicker and heavier than a humid fog on a hot day. Louis’ breathing was ragged. He wanted to punch Zayn and keep punching and never stop punching. But he held his ground, fists in balls at his sides. Zayn was still staring at him for a moment before he finally took two steps forward and shoved Louis back with even harder force.

Louis was little by nature - something he always hated. So it wasn’t any surprise that he went flying a little when Zayn shoved him. He staggered back, barely keeping himself from falling completely onto his arse. His cheeks flared pink. Fuck this. Fuck Zayn, fuck it all. He marched towards Zayn and raised his fist to punch. But Zayn was faster, and somehow swerved and caught Louis’ fist just before it made contact with his jaw. He gripped Louis’ wrist in his hand tightly, not letting go. The touch of Zayn’s hand on his skin burned like acid. Louis wanted to be sick. 

Because how dare Zayn?

How _fucking dare_ he?

He was Louis’ best friend in the whole entire world. Louis had never had anyone like Zayn in his life - not Stan, and not even Harry. Zayn just got him. They understood each other deeper than anyone. And Louis could talk to Zayn about stuff he couldn’t talk about with anyone else - stuff he didn’t want to burden Harry with, stuff his mum wouldn’t understand. Zayn just got him. And they had clicked from the very off. It was like they were soul mates. Even Harry said so. Zayn was made from the same ethereal star stuff Louis was made from. And they just clicked. They stayed up countless nights, just talking. They could cry around each other and it wasn’t a big deal. They would just hold each other and cuddle each other and soothe each other when things got to be too tough. And they could smoke together and sit out under the stars together and just talk about life. And fuck! Louis had never had that before, and he’d never have it again without Zayn. Zayn was his person. Zayn was his other half. Zayn was his brother. Zayn was platonically everything Harry was to him romantically. Louis wasn’t whole without Zayn.

And Zayn had fucking left. Zayn had got on a plane one day and just left mid-tour. And Louis hadn’t been able to stop him. And they had to rework the whole setlist and they had to split off solos and take on too much. Their voices cracked and their lungs ached from having to carry Zayn’s parts. And then the whole Twitter thing...Christ the fucking Twitter thing! Louis hadn’t believed it to be real, and had to refresh his feed numerous times with shaky hands as he read over and over again the horrible things being said about him. And Zayn had been silent. Zayn hadn’t said a goddamn word.

Until he did.

And when he did, it was the worst thing he could say. He told Louis not to make “bitchy comments” and to stay out of his life. And that was that. Louis had broken down. He had thrown his phone and it’d taken Harry - poor, darling Harry - forever to calm him.

And that was that.

No more contact.

Nothing.

Just radio silence.

And honestly, fuck Zayn.

Louis realized then that he had tears prickling at his eyes. Fuck it fucking stung! He blinked, willing them to just go away. He hated crying - hated being a fucking crier. He always cried. The boys called it the ‘Louis cry face.’ And his face would crumble like dry clay, and he’d just lose it. The tears would spill without stop. And when it’d happen before - before everything went to absolute shit - Zayn would pull Louis on his lap and soothingly rub his back while Liam ran off to get Harry and Niall would pace in circles worrying with his hands. And Harry would come and crouch down and brush the tears from his cheeks and would kiss his nose and lips and make him smile as Zayn kept holding him. And now here he was, standing on an icy balcony on New Year’s, with Zayn’s hand on his wrist and tears flooding his eyes.

He glanced up, trying to keep the tears from falling. When he did so, he was met with Zayn’s eyes. Brown, heavy, soft eyes looking at him with just this stare of utter helplessness. And Louis couldn’t help the choked sob that escaped his lips. 

The second the sob was out, Louis felt himself being yanked against the jean jacket that smelled of spray paint, cigarettes, and vanilla. An arm wrapped around his waist, and a hand came up to cradle the back of his head. Louis sobbed into Zayn’s shoulder, wanting to kick him - wanting to punch him. Instead, he crumbled and allowed himself to be held in Zayn’s arms as he cried. And then he felt it, the soft shaking of Zayn’s shoulder against his face. Zayn was crying now too. Just barely detectable. And Louis felt his heart clench.

“I hate you so much,” Louis snarled as harshly as he could manage through his tears as he wrapped his arms around Zayn, holding him tight as if scared to ever let go again.

“Yeah, well...feeling’s mutual, beb.”

Louis’ fists clutched against Zayn’s jean jacket, “Don’t you _dare_ fucking let go, Malik.”

“Never, beb. Never.”

The wind picked up, and they held each other a bit tighter as the breeze lapped at their hair. It was so chilly on the balcony, but Louis felt warm against Zayn’s chest, wrapped in Zayn’s arms. He felt safe enough to break down and cry, and he let himself do just that. He cried and he cried until his eyes had run out of tears to cry. And Zayn just held him, hand gently carding through Louis’ hair soothingly. He didn’t once try to pull away, didn’t once yell at Louis for getting snot all over the front of his jacket. He just held tighter and firmer and let Louis cry into him.

Once Louis had spent all his tears, he was the one to pull back slightly to wipe at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I’ve got you,” Zayn said, reaching up to brush away Louis’ tears with his fingertips, “I’ve got you, beb.”

“Fuck,” Louis muttered, feeling absolutely mortified when he saw the dampness on Zayn’s jacket.

“My car’s out front,” Zayn said, “Let’s blow. Grimmy’s a shit stain anyway. Probably sloshed and hanging all over everyone else to notice if we were to slip away, beb.”

A small smile broke out across Louis’ face, “True...but management said I needed to stay until midnight. I’m supposed to kiss some girl named Tori or something. It’s all set up.”

“Fuck them,” Zayn said, a smile breaking out across his own face wickedly.

“Z…”

“I mean it,” Zayn gently nudged Louis’ shoulder, “C’mon. Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve snuck off, would it love?”

It really wouldn’t. It wouldn’t even be the hundredth time they’d snuck off somewhere - dodging bodyguards and security as they dashed off in dark corridors or behind cars. Louis bit his lower lip, thinking it over. He could just leave with Zayn. There were too many people at the party anyway. No one would notice if he suddenly wasn’t there. And Calvin and Olli were probably too pissed to notice their own surroundings, much less if Louis were there or not.

“Alright,” he nodded, “Alright.”

“Sick,” Zayn’s smile grew before he grabbed hold of Louis’ hand and pulled him to the door. 

Louis allowed Zayn to pull him down the stairs and out the doors to the front circular drive where the cars were parked. He pulled Louis by the hand to his black Ashton Martin Vanquish. Louis let out a whistle when Zayn dropped his hand.

“Malik, who let you have a sick whip like this?” Louis asked, pushing a hand through his hair as he circled the car, admiring it. 

“You jealous, beb?” Zayn chuckled, opening his door and sliding in, “You could have one too, ‘cept you gave up your sporty for a minivan back before you’d even had your first legal drink in the states, love.”

Louis scoffed, indignantly as he slid into the passenger seat, “Shut your fucking mouth, wanker.”

Zayn laughed and turned the car on. He pulled out of the drive, fast and loud. Louis couldn’t help the smile that pulled across his face as the car whipped out of the double brass gates of Grimmy’s property. He couldn’t help throwing his head back and laughing either, because it felt good. It felt so fucking good.

It wasn’t far to Zayn’s property. Louis’ breath hitched slightly as they drove through the familiar gates. Louis hadn’t been to Zayn’s place in ages. He felt a little sick with nerves as Zayn pulled up to the front of his house. 

“C’mon then,” Zayn said, shutting off the car.

Louis hopped out and followed Zayn up to the front door. Zayn unlocked the door and held it open for Louis. Louis glanced around the entry way. Not a whole lot had changed. He could already see the various different paintings and sculptures decorating Zayn’s home. Louis didn’t always understand Zayn’s taste in art, but he did respect it. Just like he didn’t understand Harry’s fucking Boxing Jesus. But he tolerated the hideous thing in their living room because Harry loved it and would drone on about Jesus overcoming death and satan or whatnot. Louis would just smile and kiss him sweetly because it made him happy and that was fine by him.

“I’m going to order us a pizza. You call your boy and let him know you’re going to crash here tonight.”

Louis just nodded dumbly as he pressed the contact for H followed by five sparkle heart emojis. He sent a quick text to Harry saying - _wouldn’t believe who I ran into at Grimmy’s! Z! At his place now...probs for the night. I’ll keep you posted. LOVE YOU!!!!_

Harry replied within seconds: _Are you serious? Louis if I get a call from the cops saying there’s been a murder and I have to bail you out of jail…_

Louis rolled his eyes, typing back: _Nah, we’re good...I think. Well, not good. But. I think we sort of need each other tonight._

Harry answered back promptly again: _I get it. I do. Just be careful, darling._

Louis smiled fondly at his phone, _I always am :)_

Harry: _Wanker._

Louis: _Arse._

Harry: _Tell Z hi for me._

Louis replied: _Will do xoxoxox_ before putting his phone away in his pocket and wandering into the kitchen to find Zayn.

Zayn was leaning against the marble island in the kitchen, mulling over a pizza menu in his hands, “What would you like, love?” Zayn asked.

“I’ll split your grilled chicken with you,” Louis slid up next to Zayn, resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder cautiously. He still didn’t know where they stood with each other. But Zayn didn’t move away, just reached up to scratch at the base of Louis’ scalp.

“Sounds good,” he said in agreement. 

Louis pulled off so Zayn could call in the pizza. After the pizza was called in, Zayn led Louis into the living room and together they pulled several blankets and pillows up on the floor, making a little bed right in the middle of the room. Zayn rolled a few joints for them and set them aside to enjoy after the pizza. When the pizza arrived, they nibbled their slices straight from the box in silence before Louis finally said -

“I’m still fucking pissed at you.”

“I know,” Zayn set his slice back down in the box, “And I’m sorry for that. I would never hurt you, beb. Not intentionally. I just couldn’t do it anymore, Lou. I was breaking. I lost so much weight and I just...it wasn’t good for me. It was different with you four. You didn’t get the comments I did. Your families weren’t bastardized like mine was.”

Louis picked at his crust. He knew Zayn got so much shit while in the band. He’d seen the comments online. He’d heard the things people said about Zayn and his family. It honestly made Louis sick to his stomach. But he thought that they were dealing with it together. He thought they’d been a strong enough support system. Suddenly a realization struck him like a slap to the face. What if they hadn’t been? What if they hadn’t been a good enough support for Zayn?

“We didn’t get it,” Louis admitted, putting away his slice, “We tried, but we couldn’t. No one us went through anything like you went through. We couldn’t relate. We tried though. But we just...we couldn’t be the support you needed, Z. I’m...I’m sorry.”

“No,” Zayn shook his head, “You tried. You really did. Like all of you did so good at trying to understand, but unless it happens to you...you just don’t realize how it is. And to see them say those things about me, and to see them say those things about my parents. It was so fucked, Lou. So fucked. And I couldn’t take it anymore. I just had to go home. I had to be a bit selfish and put myself first. And I walked away from it.”

“No,” Louis frowned, shaking his head, “I-I know. It’s not selfish to have to put yourself first. I didn’t get it then. I do now. You had to do what was right and good for you. I would leave too sometimes. I’ve thought about it. When I went through all that shit last year, I wanted to walk away. But it makes Haz happy, and I know deep down it makes me happy too. So I can deal with the bull of it all. But if you can’t, you shouldn’t be expected to have to. You needed to walk away and I’m not mad about that. I was, but I’m not anymore. I’m still fucking pissed about the Naughty Boy bull you pulled though. What the fuck was that, Z?”

Zayn took a sharp breath and Louis froze, not sure if he wanted to hear Zayn’s response. Zayn ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the stack of pillows, “I was told that I needed to do some big act of separation - to make it clear and evident that all ties between One Direction and myself were resolved. That’s what the fuck that was. And I was told that I could say what I did, or someone else could say something worse. And I couldn’t do that to you, Lou. So I chose to be the one to say what I did. Because I didn’t want to say what they’d have said. I didn’t want that to happen to you. Even if it meant the last nail in the coffin of us, I chose to do it. Because what they were going to say if I didn’t...fuck. People don’t realize how little control we have of our social media.”

“What...what were they going to say?” Louis asked timidly.

“That one word we don’t use under any circumstances, and to say that you um...you couldn’t sing without uh...autotune. And that it was evident why...you never had a um...solo during...X-Factor,” Zayn’s eyes dropped to the blanket.

“Oh,” was all Louis could manage to say.

“Yeah. So I told them no. That I would say that one Tweet, even if it meant destroying us. I just wasn’t going to let them do that to you.” 

A beat of silence passed between them. Louis picked at a thread on the torn knee of his jeans. He didn’t know what to say. He knew that they could take over Twitters and say whatever they wanted to. Louis knew that all too well. Zayn had said what he’d said as an act of protection? Louis’ brow furrowed as he tried to process what he’d just heard. Zayn had been protecting him.

“Thank you,” Louis said, voice so soft and little he wasn’t sure if he’d actually spoken outloud.

“Yeah,” Zayn nodded.

Another beat of silence passed before Zayn reached for the joints he’d rolled earlier. He grabbed one and the lighter from the coffee table.

“I need a smoke,” he said, putting the joint between his lips and flicking the lighter.

“Same,” Louis nodded.

Zayn took a long drag before passing the spliff off to Louis. Louis took a drag before blowing the curling silver smoke out through his parted lips.

They shared the joint back and forth for a while, neither one of them talking. Louis wasn’t sure what else to say. They had a lot to say to one another, but that was a conversation for tomorrow. Right now, they just needed this moment here and now. The Talk could happen come dawn. Right now, Louis just needed this moment to be in Zayn’s presence, smoking and imagining it like old times. Only this wasn’t old times. This was here and now. And there were still scars - sharp and jagged that twinged on cold windy nights like this. But they were healed. And they were healing. And things were going to be okay.

Somewhere in the hall, the clock struck midnight. Zayn took the joint from Louis’ fingers and took in a long drag before motioning Louis closer to him with his free hand. Louis’ head dropped closer towards Zayn’s. Zayn moved the joint away and held his breath a beat before pressing his lips to Louis’, breathing his smoke into Louis’ mouth - breathing in the taste of marijuana and pizza and hope into Louis’ lungs.

They broke the shotgun with a giggle; foreheads dropping against each other’s as they continued to giggle as the clock continued to chime.


End file.
